


Obsession

by Castiels



Category: Hannibal (TV), Merlin (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabbles, Drama, M/M, Poetry, Romance, oneshots
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 00:14:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiels/pseuds/Castiels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A set of drabbles based off my fandoms. Blame tumblr for most of this, but the updates will probably be more frequent than my other stories. I have no idea how that happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. sadness o1.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Candy4thewin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candy4thewin/gifts).



Everything is black and white; no color. There has been no color since that day on Camlann, not since the day you died. Everything is feelingless. Nothing is everywhere.

But I suppose something did happen, Gwen had your heir Arthur. He's sweet, looks just like you. Acts like you too. One day, he was messing around in the armoury, playing with the swords. I'm not quite sure whether we should tell him how you died or not. 

Because I might just cry. 

I suppose you might want to know what happened to the rest of them. Gwaine, he died protecting you from Morgana. Percival hasn't been quite right ever since. I suppose they took a fancy to each other. Morgana, well, I killed her. I killed her with Excalibur. Leon, he's not much better. Loosing you and Uther must have really taken a toll on him. Gaius, he's much the same as he always was. Just a little sadder. 

One thing I know, though for certain, is that you'll come back. You'll be here. We won't mourn anymore. 

We'll be happy.


	2. sadness o2

He tumbles, tumbles, down

into the street below.

His wings are falling off,

his mask ever slow.

 

He died for a cause,

A martyr one would say.

He died for a madman’s

silly little game.

 

A battle of wits rather than muscle

Between two geniuses would end in a tumble.

I owe you a fall “I O U”

Carved into a blood red apple fresh as new.

 

And as this man falls down,

you may hear a sound

“I’m coming home, coming home.”

“Coming home my dear now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent all morning ( it's 6:10 a.m now ) working on this Rem, geez thanks. This is of-course based off the first two seasons of Sherlock and I will kill you if you steal. But if you want to use something from my poetry for an edit or something just PM me and I'll give you the rundown.
> 
>  
> 
> I swear this fandom is killing me. Making me enter this into a regional contest.


	3. sherlock

Today was his wedding. I should be proud, scratch that, I am proud. He's become so wonderful. Mary truly deserves him. 

I just wish I did too. I hold no wishes, I hope. I do not wish, I hope. There is no magic. No such thing. 

John may have proved me wrong in that. 

He was just a tool in the beginning, something to entertain me when I had nothing to do. A game of sorts, nothing more than a pawn. But now, he was worth so much more. A companion, company.   
Now, I believe in blessing.

Someone blessed me with him. Someone truly magnificent.

A wedding, of course, is truly a spectacular thing. A binding of love and trust. Vowing to never let the other go.

We already did that, the moment I realized that John had shot that cabbie, we had become eternally bound in chaos and crime. A brotherhood of sorts.

We were already married, and Mary would never touch that. She was too clever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is happy in a way, I don't even really care about the O.C.Cness now.


	4. sherlock

It's been thirteen months, twenty-one days, three hours, and forty-six minutes since Sherlock Holmes was pronounced dead at the morgue. 

It's been twelve months, thirteen days, four hours, and twenty three minutes since John Watson had taken up a new hobby. 

It's been twelve months, thirteen days, four hours, and tenty three minutes, since John Watson sent the first text to a dead mans phone. 

He does it now, out of habit, instead of actual need. He doesn't really expect to get a reply. 

Except the one time he did.

John, you must stop texting this phone.

He, of course is hurt, but more confused than anything. So he keeps texting. 

John, stop, please. 

John. 

"I'm sorry Sherlock." He whispers silently, sitting against the back of Sherlock's chair, a break of his voice signifying his distress. "I'm really sorry Sherlock."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be honest I don't even know
> 
> like seriously
> 
> not even I know


	5. dead fools

"Magic mirror on the wall, who's the fairest one of all?"

Almon has pondered this question very much, much like a professor would ponder why exactly this student seemed dark all the time and why that one had mysterious bruisings. He also pondered exactly what this question meant. 

Of course, one would wonder what exactly he was doing analyzing this question: Obviously, it meant that the evil witch wanted to know who was the most beautiful and charming of her kingdom. But Almon pondered it for a different reason. He pondered it because of Judah. 

Judah. . . loved him in a different sense of the word. He protected him, patched him up after a rather violent hunt occured, he was protective, and he didn't allow anyone to touch what he clearly knew belonged to him. 

But then again, Almon never knew truly what 'love' was. It was undefineable. Like a black hole, no one knew exactly what was at it's center. What was it's purpose? Why did it exist when it caused people so much pain? What was so good about it?

He had felt as if Judah had answered his questions. Like people say about gods and religions. It was to provide comfort. It existed in a way that it was like sin in the purest form. It provided fake-stability and it was completely and utterly

useless

He had particularly known his love for him had existed much like how he subconciously knew how to breathe in his sleep, or how his hair grew, or how his heart functioned. Automatically and in the back of his head. 

It was one would called perfect. A deep sense of accomplishment always swelled up when he saw Judah in his bed in the morning, hair tousled and a look a peacefullness on his face. He had taken this, or more as if he had been taken, by this perfect human being. 

He had claimed this perfect chick-magnet who had months before been flirting with every girl he saw. 

He was truly perfect, and Almon knew he would never deserve him, but he didn't reject when Judah leaned from where he was laying a placed a gentle kiss on his lips. 

"I love you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is fanfiction of a novel that isn't published. 
> 
> tbh it needs to be published. 
> 
> You can find it under Dead Fools on Wattpad by SeaTheWords


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